After a sleepless night, Joan dragged herself out of bed. When she rang the bell, Janet came instead of Polly, gimlet-eyed and thin-lipped, as if she disapproved as much as Lady Bennet did of Joan’s failings.
But if Janet’s appearance was meant to encourage a return to better habits as well, it failed spectacularly. When Janet brought cold water to wash in, Joan sent her back to get warm water. Ever since Tristan had shown her his bathing room, she had asked Polly to bring warm water in the morning, and she wasn’t about to go back to splashing herself with frigid water first thing in the morning. When Janet asked what she wished to wear, Joan deliberately ignored the pink-striped dress the abigail suggested, and chose the bright blue dress she had worn when Tristan took her and Evangeline on the tour of his home. Janet shook her head but she buttoned up the dress without a word. In fact, she said little of anything until Joan stopped her from plaiting her hair into a braided coronet.
“Just smooth it back into a knot, not too tightly,” she directed.
Her mother’s abigail put her hands on her hips. “And what’s got into you, Miss Bennet? I’ve fixed your hair this way a hundred times.”
“I know. But I had a chance to try things differently while you were away, and I like it better looser.”
“It’s not the fashion,” Janet protested. “It’s so plain!”
“I think plain suits me.” She took a deep breath. “In dresses and in hair. If I were a slim, dainty girl, ringlets and ruffles would look lovely on me, but I’m not, and they don’t. Every time we pulled my corset as tight as it would go, to minimize my figure, I only felt short of breath. My hair might as well have been a wig, covered in pomade to make it hold the curls. This way I feel much better, and I believe I look better, too.”
Janet was taken aback by this speech, but slowly a look of faint respect came over her face. “You’re finding your own style, then. There’s not many ladies who have the will to defy current fashions, miss.”
Joan faced herself in the mirror. She had tried every fashionable thing, and never been pleased with how she looked. Now, for the first time she thought she looked attractive. “I do.”
“Just like your mother,” murmured Janet, sweeping Joan’s long hair back and twisting it into a knot. “The Bennet ladies know what they want, and won’t be deterred from it.”
That statement sank into her mind like a balm. As Janet pinned up her hair—a much quicker job, now that it didn’t require several braids and the curling tongs—she thought maybe it was more true than she had expected. She had worn what her mother suggested, but that was before she’d discovered what would be most flattering to her. She had wanted to look lovely in those other dresses, but when they didn’t, she didn’t have much idea why not or what else to try. As much as she wished to be dainty and petite, there was no escaping the fact that she wasn’t ... and Tristan liked her as she was. Now that she knew simplicity suited her, she was determined not to wear the puffs and lace and ruffles that had made her look ridiculous before. That determinationwasvery like her mother, she belatedly realized; the main difference was that Mother looked beautiful in the latest fashions, so there was no conflict for her. Joan would have to be braver, or pray for a radical change in fashion, but either way she intended to keep to her new style.
Emboldened, she went in search of her mother. She wasn’t ready to make a complete confession, but she felt far more confident about her choices, both in fashion and in conduct. Until she had some sign otherwise, she chose to believe that Tristan had honorable intentions.
To her surprise, Evangeline was with her mother. Mother was settled on a chaise near the window, a warm throw over her legs. The table beside her was spread with breakfast for two. After last night Joan would have sworn they wouldn’t be on speaking terms, but things appeared quite civil between them now. Evangeline rose from her chair opposite Mother as Joan hesitated in the doorway.
“Good morning,” her aunt said brightly. “Come in, have some tea with us.”
Joan crossed the room and pulled up another chair. “How are you this morning, Mother?”
“Happy to be home. It was a long drive from Bath.”
Joan darted a glance at Evangeline, but her aunt was busy preparing a cup of tea. “I’m glad you’re back,” she murmured.
Her mother gave her a wry look. “Are you, indeed?”
She nodded. “I missed you. And I’m enormously relieved to see you so well.”
“We all are, Marion,” added Evangeline as she offered Joan a plate of muffins.
Mother smiled. “Thank you both.” She hesitated, then reached for Joan’s hand. “My dear, I owe you an apology. I was wrong to criticize your gown last night. I was very ... startled by it, and spoke rashly. It did not make you look like a loose woman, and I regret ever saying that.”
“Oh,” she said, taken aback. “I—I understand.” Evangeline beamed at her. “I think it suits me, Mother. I wish I could wear lace and flounces and be fashionable,” she said with real yearning. “But those trimmings just make me look like a giantess.”
“Of course they don’t,” her mother replied. “But you should wear what fits your taste, and you’re certainly old enough to choose that for yourself. Your father—and your aunt—were thoroughly correct about that, and I was wrong.”
“Oh,” said Joan again, too shocked to say anything else.
“And about Lord Burke ...” Mother paused. Joan braced herself. “I should have offered you a chance to explain. I would like to hear what happened.”
She took a deep breath. “Douglas asked him to call on me while you were away. He came to tea ...” She hesitated, looking to her aunt for guidance, but Evangeline merely nodded. “He asked me to go driving, and he sent me flowers. And he asked me to dance last night.” She wasn’t about to admit the last sinfully wonderful thing she had done with Tristan to anyone on God’s earth.
Lady Bennet closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “Are you in love with him?”
Her face burned. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “I think so. Yes.”
Mother faced her again. “Has he given you any sign he intends to propose marriage?”
What to say? Both her aunt and her mother were watching her intently. Her throat felt dry. “No,” she whispered. “Not specifically.”
